


unexpected places

by arminsupremacy



Category: LOONA (Korea Band)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, How Do I Tag, Suicidal Thoughts, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Timeline What Timeline, Will add more tags as we go, You Have Been Warned, all the bright places but make it gay, anyways loona is coming back, idk what else, this is sad like really sad, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27024505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arminsupremacy/pseuds/arminsupremacy
Summary: Jinsoul and Jungeun meet on the ledge of the bell tower at school—both teetering on the edge—it’s the beginning of an unlikely relationship, a journey to discover the ‘natural wonders’ of their state, and two teens’ desperate desire to heal and save one another.
Relationships: Jung Jinsol | Jinsoul/Kim Jungeun | Kim Lip
Comments: 14
Kudos: 50





	1. thanks

**Author's Note:**

> this is not what you think it is but wtvr. and anyways loona is coming back hoes. :D
> 
> and i did not proofread so sorry for the mistakes and if you see mistakes and grammatical errors please tell me, i'm trying to get better at writing. thank youuuuu.
> 
> TW: mentions of suicide, suicidal characters

**Jinsoul was** **_awake_ again. Day 6.**

_Was today a good day to die?_

That was something she asked herself in the morning when she wakes up. In third period when she's trying to keep her eyes open while their teacher drones on and on. At the supper table as she's passing the green beans. At night when she's lying awake because her brain won’t shut off due to all there is to think about.

_Was today the day?_

_And if not today — when?_

Jinsoul was asking herself this now as she stood on a narrow ledge six stories above the ground. She's so high up, she's practically part of the sky. She looked down at the pavement below, and the world tilts. She closed her eyes, enjoying the way everything spins. Maybe this time she'd do it—let the air carry her away. It would be like floating in a pool, drifting off until there’s nothing.

She doesn’t remember climbing up there. In fact, she doesn’t remember much of anything before Sunday, at least not anything so far this winter. It happens every time—the blanking out, the waking up. She's like that old man with the beard, Rip Van Winkle. Now you see her, now you don’t. You’d think she'd have gotten used to it, but the last time was the worst yet because she wasn’t asleep for a couple days or a week or two—she was asleep for the holidays, meaning Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. She couldn’t tell you what was different this time around, only that when she woke up, she felt deader than usual. Awake, yeah, but completely empty, like someone had been feasting on her blood. This was day six of being awake again, and her first week back at school since November 14.

Jinsoul opened her eyes, and the ground was still there, hard and permanent. She was in the bell tower of the high school, standing on a ledge about four inches wide. The tower was pretty small, with only a few feet of concrete floor space on all sides of the bell itself, and then the low stone railing, which she's climbed over to get there. Every now and then she knocks one of her legs against it to remind herself it’s there.

Her arms were outstretched as if she's conducting a sermon and this entire not-very big, dull, dull town was her congregation. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she shouts, “I would like to welcome you to my death!” One might expect her to say “life,” having just woken up and all, but it’s only when she's awake that she thinks about dying.

Jinsoul was shouting in an old-school-preacher way, all jerking head and words that twitch at the ends, and she almost loses her balance. She held on behind her, happy no one seems to have noticed, because, let’s face it, it’s hard to look fearless when you’re clutching the railing like a chicken.

“I, Jinsoul Jung, being of unsound mind, do hereby bequeath all my earthly possessions to Sooyoung Ha, Haseul Jo, my little sister and my brother. Everyone else can go f—themselves.” In their house, her mom taught them early to spell that word (if they must use it) or, better yet, not spell it, and, sadly, it has stuck.

Even though the bell has rung, some of her classmates were still milling around on the ground. It’s the first week of the second semester of senior year, and already they’re acting as if they’re almost done and out of there. One of them looks up in her direction, as if she heard her, but the others didn’t, either because they haven’t spotted her or because they know she's there and Oh well, it’s just Jinsoul.

Then his head turns away from her and he points at the sky. At first she thought he’s pointing at her, but it’s at that moment Jinsoul sees her, the girl. She stands a few feet away on the other side of the tower, also out on the ledge, dark-blond hair waving in the breeze, the hem of her skirt blowing up like a parachute. Even though it’s January, she is shoeless in tights, a pair of shoes in her hand, and staring either at her feet or at the ground—it’s hard to tell. She seems frozen in place.

In her regular, non-preacher voice she says, as calmly as possible, “Take it from me, the worst thing you can do is look down.”

Very slowly, the girl turns her head toward her, and Jinsoul knew this girl, or at least she's seen her in the hallways. She couldn’t resist: “Come here often? Because this is kind of my spot and I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

The girl doesn’t laugh or blink, just gazes out at her from behind those clunky glasses that almost cover her face. She tries to take a step back and her foot bumps the railing. She teeters a little, and before she can panic, Jinsoul says, “I don’t know what brings you up here, but to me the town looks prettier and the people look nicer and even the worst of them look almost kind. Except for Taeyeong and Nayeon and that whole crowd you hang out with.”

Her name is Jungeun Something. She is cheerleader popular—one of those girls you would never think of running into on a ledge six stories above the ground. Behind the ugly glasses she’s pretty, almost like a china doll. Large eyes, sweet face shaped like a heart, a mouth that wants to curve into a perfect little smile. She’s a girl who dates guys like Hyunjin Hwang, baseball star, and sits with Nayeon Im and the other queen bees at lunch.

“But let’s face it, we didn’t come up here for the view. You’re Jungeun, right?”

She blinks once, and Jinsoul takes it as a yes.

“Jinsoul Jung. I think we had pre-cal together last year.”

Jungeun blinks again.

“I hate math, but that’s not why I’m up here. No offense if that’s why you are. You’re probably better at math than I am, because pretty much everyone’s better at math than I am, but it’s okay, I’m fine with it. See, I excel at other, more important things—guitar, sex, and consistently disappointing my dad, to name a few. By the way, it’s apparently true that you’ll never use it in the real world. Math, I mean.”

Jinsoul kept talking, but she could tell she's running out of steam. She needed to go to the bathroom, for one thing, and so her words weren’t the only thing twitching. (Note to self: **Before attempting to take own life, remember to go to bathroom.** ) And, two, it’s starting to rain, which, in this temperature, will probably turn to sleet before it hits the ground.

“It’s starting to rain,” Jinsoul says, as if Jungeun doesn’t know that. “I guess there’s an argument to be made that the rain will wash away the blood, leaving us a neater mess to clean up than otherwise. But it’s the mess part that’s got me thinking. I’m not a vain person, but I am human, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to look like I’ve been run through the wood chipper at my funeral.”

Jungeun's shivering or shaking, Jinsoul couldn’t tell which, and so she slowly inched her way toward Jungeun, hoping she doesn’t fall off before she gets there, because the last thing she wanted to do was make a jackass out of herself in front of this girl. “I’ve made it clear I want cremation, but my mom doesn’t believe in it.” And her dad will do whatever her mom says so he won’t upset her any more than he already has, and besides, _You're far too young to think about this, you know your Grandma lived to be ninety-eight , we don’t need to talk about that now , Jinsoul, don’t upset your mother._

“So it’ll be an open coffin for me, which means if I jump, it ain’t gonna be pretty. Besides, I kind of like my face intact like this, two eyes, one nose, one mouth, a full set of teeth, which, if I’m being honest, is one of my better features.” Jinsoul smiles so Jungeun could see what she meant. Everything where it should be, on the outside at least.

When Jungeun doesn’t say anything, Jinsoul went on inching and talking. “Most of all, I feel bad for the undertaker. What a shitty job that must be anyway, but then to have to deal with an asshole like me?”

From down below, someone yells, “Jungeun? Is that Jungeun up there?”

“Oh God,” Jungeun says, so low Jinsoul barely heard it. “OhGodohGodohGod.” The wind blows her skirt and hair, and it looks like she’s going to fly away.

There was general buzzing from the ground, and Jinsoul shouts, “Don’t try to save me! You’ll only kill yourself!” Then she says, very low, just to Jungeun, “Here’s what I think we should do.” She's about a foot away from her now. “I want you to throw your shoes toward the bell and then hold on to the rail, just grab right onto it, and once you’ve got it, lean against it and then lift your right foot up and over. Got that?”

Jungeun nods and almost loses her balance.

“Don’t nod. And whatever you do, don’t go the wrong way and step forward instead of back. I’ll count you off. On three.”

Jungeun throws her boots in the direction of the bell, and they fall with a thud, thud onto the concrete.

“One. Two. Three.”

Jungeun grips the stone and kind of props herself against it and then lifts her leg up and over so that she’s sitting on the railing. She stares down at the ground and Jinsoul could see that she’s frozen again, and so she says, “Good. Great. Just stop looking down.”

Jungeun slowly looks at her and then reaches for the floor of the bell tower with her right foot, and once she’s found it, Jinsoul says, “Now get that left leg back over however you can. Don’t let go of the wall.” By now she’s shaking so hard Jinsoul could hear her teeth chatter, but she watches as her left foot joins her right, and she is safe.

So now it’s just her out there. Jinsoul gazed down at the ground one last time, past her feet—today she's wearing sneakers with fluorescent laces—past the open windows of the fourth floor, the third, the second, past Nayeon Im, who was cackling from the front steps and swishing her hair like a pony, books over her head, trying to flirt and protect herself from the rain at the same time.

Jinsoul gazes past all of it at the ground itself, which was now slick and damp, and imagined herself lying there.

She could just step off. It would be over in seconds. No more “Jinsoul Freak.” No more hurt. No more anything.

Jinsoul tried to get past the unexpected interruption of saving a life and return to the business at hand. For a minute, she could feel it: the sense of peace as her mind goes quiet, like she's already dead. She is weightless and free. Nothing and no one to fear, not even herself.

Then a voice from behind her says, “I want you to hold on to the rail, and once you’ve got it, lean against it and lift your right foot up and over.”

Like that, she could feel the moment passing, maybe already passed, and now it seems like a stupid idea, except for picturing the look on Nayeon's face as she goes sailing by her. She laughs at the thought. She laughs so hard she almost fell off, and that scared her—like, really scared her—and she caught herself and Jungeun catches her as Nayeon looks up. “Weirdo!” someone shouts. Nayeon's little group snickers.She cups her big mouth and aims it skyward. “You okay, Jungie?”

Jungeun leans over the rail, still holding on to Jinsoul's legs. “I’m okay.”

The door at the top of the tower stairs cracks open and Jinsoul's best friend, Sooyoung Ha, appears. Sooyoung is tall and looks intimidating at first. She also gets laid more than anyone else Jinsoul knows.

Sooyoung says, “They’re serving pizza today,” as if Jinsoul wasn’t standing on a ledge six stories above the ground, her arms outstretched, a girl wrapped around her knees.

“Why don’t you go ahead and get it over with, freak?” Taeyeong Lee, better known as Dumbass, yells from below. More laughter.

_Because I've got a date with your mother later_ , Jinsoul thought but doesn’t say it because,let’s face it, it’s lame, and also Taeyeong will go up there and beat her face in and then throw her off, and that defeats the point of just doing it herself.

Instead she shouts, “Thanks for saving me, Jungeun. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come along. I guess I’d be dead right now.”

The last face she sees below belongs to her school counselor, Mr. Kibum. As he glares up at her, she thought, _Great Just great._

Jinsoul lets Jungeun help her over the wall and onto the concrete. From down below, there’s a smattering of applause, not for her, but for Jungeun, the hero. Up close like this, she could see that Jungeun's skin was smooth and clear, and her eyes are a nice shade of brown that makes her feel warm. It’s the eyes that get her. They are large and arresting, as if she sees everything. As warm as they are, they are busy, no-bullshit eyes, the kind that can look right into you, which Jinsoul could tell even through the glasses. She’s pretty and tall, but not too tall, with long, restless legs and curvy hips, which Jinsoul likes on a girl.

“I was just sitting there,” Jungeun says. “On the railing. I didn’t come up here to—”

“Let me ask you something. Do you think there’s such a thing as a perfect day?”

“What?”

“A perfect day. Start to finish. When nothing terrible or sad or ordinary happens. Do you think it’s possible?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you ever had one?”

“No.”

“I’ve never had one either, but I’m looking for it.”

Jungeun whispers, “Thank you, Jinsoul.” She reaches up and hugs her for what felt like hours (but was actually just a second), and Jinsoul could smell her shampoo, which reminds her of flowers. Jungeun says into her ear, “If you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.” Carrying her shoes, she hurries away and out of the rain, back through the door that leads to the flight of dark and rickety stairs that takes you down to one of the many too-bright and too-crowded school hallways.

Sooyoung watches her go and, as the door swings closed behind her, she turns back to Jinsoul. “Man, why do you do that?”

“Because we all have to die someday. I just want to be prepared.” That wasn’t the reason, of course, but it would be enough for Sooyoung. The truth is, there are a lot of reasons, most of which change daily, like the thirteen fourth graders killed earlier this week when some SOB opened fire in their school gym, or the girl two years behind her who just died of cancer, or the man she saw outside the Mall Cinema kicking his dog, or her father.

Sooyoung may think it, but at least she doesn’t say “Weirdo,” which was why she’s Jinsoul's best friend. Other than the fact that she appreciates this about her, they don’t have much in common.

Technically, Jinsoul's on probation this year. That was due to a small matter involving a desk and a chalkboard. (For the record, replacing a chalkboard is more expensive than you might think.) It’s also due to a guitar-smashing incident during assembly, an illegal use of fireworks, and maybe a fight or two. As a result, she's agreed involuntarily to the following: weekly counseling; maintaining a high B average; and participation in at least one extracurricular. She chose macrame because she's with twenty semi hot girls, which she thought was pretty good odds for her. She also has to behave herself, play well with others, refrain from throwing desks, as well as refrain from any “violent physical altercations.” And she must always, always, whatever she does, hold her tongue, because not doing so, apparently, was how trouble starts. If she f— anything up from here on out, it’s expulsion for her.

-

Inside the counseling office, Jinsoul checks in with the secretary and takes a seat in one of the hard wooden chairs until Mr. Kibum is ready for her. If she knew Key—as she calls him to herself—like she knew Key, he’ll want to know just what the hell she was doing in the bell tower. If she's lucky, they wouldn’t have time to cover much more than that.

In a few minutes he waves her in, a tall man, built like a semi pole. As he shuts the door, he drops the smile. He sits down, hunches over his desk, and fixes his eyes on her like she's a suspect he needs to crack. “What in the hell were you doing in the bell tower?”

The thing she likes about Key is that not only is he predictable, he gets to the point. She's known him since sophomore year.

“I wanted to see the view.”

“Were you planning to jump off?”

“Not on pizza day. Never on pizza day, which is one of the better days of the week.” Jinsoul should mention that she is a brilliant deflector. So brilliant that she could get a full scholarship to college and major in it, except why bother? She's already mastered the art.

Jinsoul waited for him to ask about Jungeun, but instead he says, “I need to know if you were or are planning to harm yourself. I am goddamn serious. If Principal Wong hears about this, you’re gone before you can say ‘suspended,’ or worse. Not to mention if I don’t pay attention and you decide to go back up there and jump off,I’m looking at a lawsuit, and on the salary they pay me, believe me when I say I do not have the money to be sued. This holds true whether you jump off the bell tower or the Purina Tower, whether it’s school property or not.”

She strokes her chin like she's deep in thought. “The Purina Tower. Now there’s an idea.”

He doesn’t budge except to squint at her. Like most people in the Midwest, Key doesn’t believe in humor, especially when it pertains to sensitive subjects. “Not funny, Ms. Jung. This is not a joking matter.”

“No, sir. Sorry.”

“The thing suicides don’t focus on is their wake. Not just your parents and siblings, but your friends, your lovers, your classmates, your teachers.” Jinsoul likes the way he seems to think she has many, many people depending on her, including not just one but multiple lovers.

“I was just messing around. I agree it was probably not the best way to spend first period.”

He picks up a file and thumps it down in front of him and starts flipping through it. She waits as he reads, and then he looks at her again. She wonders if he’s counting the days till summer.

He stands, just like a cop on TV, and walks around his desk until he’s looming over her. He leans against it, arms folded, and she looked past him, searching for the hidden two-way mirror.

“Do I need to call your mother?”

“No. And again no.” And again: no no no. “Look, it was a stupid thing to do. I just wanted to see what it felt like to stand there and look down. I would never jump from the bell tower.”

“If it happens again, if you so much as think about it again, I call her. And you’re going to do a drug test.”

“I appreciate your concern, sir.” Jinsoul tried to sound her most sincere, because the last thing she wanted was a bigger, brighter spotlight directed at her, following her throughout the halls of school, throughout the other parts of her life, such as they are. And the thing is, she actually liked Key (as a counselor). “As for the whole drug thing, there’s no need to waste precious time. Really. Unless cigarettes count. Drugs and me? Not a good mix. Believe me, I’ve tried.” She folds her hands like a good girl. “As for the whole bell tower thing, even though it wasn’t at all what you think, I can still promise that it won’t happen again.”

“That’s right—it won’t. I want you here twice a week instead of once. You come in Monday and Friday and talk to me, just so I can see how you’re doing.”

“I’m happy to, sir—I mean, I, like, really enjoy these conversations of ours—but I’m good.”

“It’s nonnegotiable. Now let’s discuss the end of last semester. You missed four, almost five, weeks of school. Your mother says you were sick with the flu.”

He’s actually talking about her brother Jaehyun, but he doesn’t know that. Jaehyun was the one who called the school while she was out, because Mom has enough to worry about.

“If that’s what she says, who are we to argue?”

The fact is, she was sick, but not in an easily explained flu kind of way. It’s her experience that people are a lot more sympathetic if they can see you hurting, and for the millionth time in her life she wishes for measles or smallpox or some other recognizable disease just to make it simple for her and also for them. Anything would be better than the truth: she shut down again. She went blank. One minute she was spinning, and the next minute her mind was dragging itself around in a circle, like an old, arthridc dog trying to lie down. And then she just turned off and went to sleep, but not sleep in the way you do every night. Think a long, dark sleep where you don’t dream at all.

Key once again narrows his eyes to a squint and stares at her hard, trying to induce a sweat. “And can we expect you to show up and stay out of trouble this semester?”

“Absolutely.”

“And keep up with your classwork?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll arrange the drug test with the nurse.” He jabs the air with his finger, pointing at her. “Probation means ‘period of testing somebody’s suitability; period when student must improve.’ Look it up if you don’t believe me, and for Christ’s sake, stay alive.”

The thing she doesn’t say is: she wants to stay alive. The reason she doesn’t say it is because, given that fat folder in front of him, he’d never believe it. And here’s something else he’d never believe—she's fighting to be here in this shitty, messed—up world. Standing on the ledge of the bell tower isn’t about dying. It’s about having control. It’s about never going to sleep again.

Key stalks around his desk and gathers a stack of “Teens in Trouble” pamphlets. Then he tells her she's not alone and she can always talk to him, his door is open, he’s here, and he’ll see her on Monday. She wants to say _no offense, but that’s not much of a comfort._ Instead, she thanks him because of the dark circles under his eyes and the smoker’s lines etched around his mouth. He’ll probably light up a cigarette as soon as she went out. She takes a heaping pile of pamphlets and leaves him to it. He never once mentioned Jungeun, and she's relieved.

-

**154 days till graduation.**

Friday morning. Office of Mrs. Jessica, school counselor, who has small, kind eyes and a smile too big for her face. According to the certificate on the wall above her head, she’s been at Dalso High for fifteen years. This was their twelfth meeting.

Jungeun's heart was still racing and her hands were still shaking from being up on that ledge. She has gone cold all over, and what she wants is to lie down. She waits for Mrs. Jessica to say: _I know what you were doing first period, Jungeun Kim. Your parents are on their way. Doctors are standing by, ready to escort you to the nearest mental health facility._

But they start as they always do.

“How are you, Jungeun?”

“I’m fine, and you?” Jungeun sits on her hands.

“I’m fine. Let’s talk about you. I want to know how you’re feeling.”

“I’m good.” Just because Jessica hasn’t brought it up does not mean she doesn’t know. She almost never asks anything directly.

“How are you sleeping?”

The nightmares started a month after the accident. Jessica asks about them everytime Jungeun sees her, because she made the mistake of mentioning them to her mom, who mentioned them to her. That was one of the main reasons why she was here and why she has stopped telling her mom anything.

“I’m sleeping fine.”

The thing about Mrs. Jessica is that she always, always smiles, no matter what. Jungeun likes that about her.

“Any bad dreams?”

“No.”

Jungeun used to write them down, but she doesn’t anymore. She could remember every detail. Like the one she had four weeks ago where she was literally melting away. In the dream, her dad said, “You’ve come to the end, Jungeun. You’ve reached your limit. We all have them, and yours is now.” But she doesn’t want it to be. She watched as her feet turned into puddles and disappeared. Next were her hands. It didn’thurt, and she remembered thinking: _I shouldn’t mind this because there isn’t any pain. It’s just a slipping away._ But she did mind as, limb by limb, the rest of her went invisible before she woke up.

Mrs. Jessica shifts in her chair, her smile fixed on her face. Jungeun wonders if she smiles in her sleep.

“Let’s talk about college.”

This time last year, she would have loved to talk about college. Kahei and her used to do it sometimes after Mom and Dad had gone to bed. They’d sit outside if it was warm enough, inside if it was too cold. They imagined the places they would go and the people they would meet, far away from Dalso High, their town, population 14,983, where they felt like aliens from some distant planet.

“You’ve applied to UCLA, Stanford, Berkeley, the University of Florida, the University of Buenos Aires, Northern Caribbean University, and the National University of Singapore. This is a very diverse list, but what happened to NYU?”

Since the summer before seventh grade, NYU’s creative writing program has been her dream. That was thanks to visiting New York with her mother, who is a college professor and writer. She did her graduate work at NYU, and for three weeks the four of them stayed in the city and socialized with her former teachers and classmates—novelists, playwrights, screenwriters, poets. Jungeun's plan was to apply for early admission in October. But then the accident happened and she changed her mind.

“I missed the application deadline.” The deadline for regular admission was one week ago today. Jungeun filled everything out, even wrote her essay, but didn’t send it in.

“Let’s talk about the writing. Let’s talk about the website.”

She means KaheiandJungeun.com. Kahei and her started it after they moved. They wanted to create an online magazine that offered two (very) different perspectives on fashion, beauty, girls, books, life. Last year, Kahei's friend Minju (star of the hit Web series Rant) mentioned them in an interview, and their following tripled. But she hasn’t touched the site since Kahei died, because what would be the point? It was a site about sisters. Besides, in that instant they went plowing through the guardrail, her words died too.

“I don’t want to talk about the website.”

“I believe your mother is an author. She must be very helpful in giving advice.”

“Jessamyn West said, ‘Writing is so difficult that writers, having had their hell on earth, will escape all punishment here after.’”

Jessica lights up at this. “Do you feel you’re being punished?” She was talking about the accident. Or maybe she was referring to being here in this office, this school,this town.

“No.” Does she feel she should be punished? Yes. Why else would she have given herself a haircut?

“Do you believe you’re responsible for what happened?”

Jungeun tugs on her hair. They are kind of okay. Kind of. “No.”

Jessica sits back. Her smile slips a fraction of an inch. They both know Jungeun's lying. She wonders what Jessica would say if she told her that an hour ago she was being talked off the ledge of the bell tower. By now, she's pretty sure Jessica doesn’t know.

“Have you driven yet?”

“No.”

“Have you allowed yourself to ride in the car with your parents?”

“No.”

“But they want you to.” That wasn’t a question. Jessica says it like she’s talked to one or both of them, which she probably has.

“I’m not ready.” Those were the three magic words. Jungeun discovered they can get you out of almost anything.

Jessica leans forward. “Have you thought about returning to cheerleading?”

“No.”

“Student council?”

“No.”

“You still play flute in the orchestra?”

“I’m last chair.” That’s something that hasn’t changed since the accident. She was always last chair because she's not very good at flute.

Jessica sits back again. For a moment Jungeun thinks she’s given up. Then she says, “I’m concerned about your progress, Jungeun. Frankly, you should be further along than you are right now. You can’t avoid cars forever, especially now that we’re in winter. You can’t keep standing still. You need to remember that you’re a survivor, and that means ...”

Jungeun would never know what that means because as soon as she hears the word “survivor,” she gets up and walks out.

-

On her way to fourth period. School hallway.

At least fifteen people—some she knew, some she doesn’t, some who haven’t talked to her in months—stopped her on her way to class to tell her how courageous she was to save Jinsoul from killing herself. One of the girls from the school paper wants to do an interview.

Of all the people she could have “saved,” Jinsoul was the worst possible choice because she’s a Dalso legend. She doesn’t know her that well, but she knows of her. Everyone knows of her. Some people hate her because they think she’s weird and she gets into fights and gets kicked out of school and does what she wants. Some people worship her because she’s weird and she gets into fights and gets kicked out of school and does what she wants. She plays guitar in five or six different bands, and last year she cut a record. But she’s kind of...extreme. Like she came to school one day painted head-to-toe red, and it wasn’t even Spirit Week. She told some people she was protesting racism and others she was protesting the consumption of meat. Junior year she wore a cape every day for an entire month, cracked a chalkboard in half with a desk, and stole all the dissecting frogs from the science wing and gave them a funeral before burying them in the baseball field. The great Yeji Hwang once said that the secret of surviving high school is to “lay low.” Jinsoul does the opposite of this.

Jungeun's five minutes late to Russian literature, where Mrs. Taeyeon and her wig assign them a ten-page paper on The Brothers Karamazov. Groans follow from everyone but her, because no matter what Mrs. Jessica seems to think, she has Extenuating Circumstances.

She doesn’t even listen as Mrs. Taeyeon goes over what she wants. Instead she picks at a thread on her skirt. She has a headache. Probably from the glasses. Kahei's eyes were worse than hers. She takes the glasses off and sets them on the desk. They were stylish on Kahei. They were ugly on her. But maybe, if she wears the glasses long enough, she could be like her. She could see what Kahei saw. She could be both of them at once so no one will have to miss Kahei, most of all her.

The thing is, there were good days and bad days. She feels almost guilty saying they weren’t all bad. Something catches her off guard—a TV show, a funny one-liner from her dad, a comment in class—and she laughs like nothing ever happened. She feels normal again, whatever that is. Some mornings she wakes up and she sings while she's getting ready. Or maybe she turns up the music and danced. On most days, she walks to school. Other days she takes her bike, and every now and then her mind tricks her into thinking she's just a regular girl out for a ride.

Wonyoung pokes her in the back and hands her a note. Because Mrs. Taeyeon collects their phones at the start of every class, it’s the old-fashioned kind, written on notebook paper.

**_Is it true you saved Jinsoul from killing herself? x Hyunjin._** There is only one Hyunjin in that room—some would argue there’s only one Hyunjin in the whole school,maybe even the world—and that’s Hyunjin Hwang.

Jungeun looks up and catches his eye, two rows over. He is too good-looking. Broad shoulders, warm gold-brown hair, brown eyes, and a face enough to make him seem approachable. Until December, he was her boyfriend, but now they're taking a break.

She lets the note sit on her desk for five minutes before answering it. Finally, she writes: **_I just happened to be there, x J._** Less than a minute later, it’s passed back to her, but this time she doesn’t open it. She thinks of how many girls would love to receive a note like this from Hyunjin Hwang. The Jungeun of last spring would have been one of them.

When the bell rings, she hangs back. Hyunjin lingers for a minute, waiting to see what she does, but when she just sits there, he collects his phone and goes on.

Mrs. Taeyeon says, “Yes, Jungeun?”

Ten pages used to be no big deal. A teacher would ask for ten and she would write twenty. If they wanted twenty, she'd give them thirty. Writing was what she did best, better than being a daughter or girlfriend or sister. Writing was her. But now writing was one of the things she couldn’t do.

Jungeun barely has to say anything, not even “I’m not ready.” It’s in the unwritten rulebook of life, under How to React When a Student Loses a Loved One and Is, Nine Months Later, Still Having a Very Hard Time.

Mrs. Taeyeon sighs and hands her her phone. “Give me a page or a paragraph, Jungeun. Just do your best.” Her Extenuating Circumstances saved the day.

-

Outside the classroom, Hyunjin was waiting. She could see him trying to figure out the puzzle so he could put her back together again and turn her into the fun girlfriend he used to know. He says, “You look really pretty today.” He is nice enough not to stare at her hair.

“Thanks.”

Over Hyunjin's shoulder, she sees Jinsoul strutting by. She nods at her like she knows something Jungeun doesn’t, and she keeps on going.


	2. not today, because she smiled at me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i was supposed to update this earlier than expected but i had to change some things and i don't know if i made it better or worse. and also i was really busy with school these past few days and didn't have time to write but here ya go. hope you like it! LET'S PUMP IT UP!!!!!
> 
> **TW: mentions of suicide, bullying ******

**Day 6 (still) of being awake.**

By lunch, it was all over school that Jungeun Kim saved Jinsoul Jung from jumping off the bell tower. On her way to U.S. Geography, Jinsoul walked behind a group of girls in the hallway who were going on and on about it, no idea that she's the one and only Jinsoul Jung.

They talk over each other in these high voices that always end in question marks, so that it sounds like _I heard she had a gun? I heard Jungeun had to wrestle it out of her hands? My cousin says she and a friend were in Chicago and Jinsoul was playing this club and she totally hooked up with both of them? Well, my brother was there when Jinsoul set off the firecrackers, and my brother said before the police took her away, she was all “Unless you want to reimburse me, I’ll wait for the finale”?_

Apparently, Jinsoul is tragic and dangerous. _Oh yeah,_ she thinks. That’s right. She was here and now and not just awake, but _Awake_ , and everyone can just deal with it because she was the second freakin’ coming. She leaned in and said to them, “I heard she did it over a girl,” and then she swaggered all the way to class.

—

Inside the classroom, Jinsoul takes her seat, feeling infamous and invincible and twitchy and strangely exhilarated, as if she just escaped, well, death. She looks around, but no one was paying any attention to her or Mr. Park, their teacher, who was literally the largest man she has ever seen. He has a red, red face that always makes him look like he’s on the verge of heatstroke or a heart attack.

The whole time Jinsoul's been in town, which was all her life—the purgatory years, she calls them—they've apparently lived just eleven miles away from the highest point in the state. No one ever told her, not her parents or her sister or her brother or her teachers, until now, right this minute, in the “Wander” section of Geography—the one that was implemented by the school board this year in an effort to “enlighten students as to the rich history available in their own homestate.”

No joke.

Mr. Park settles into his chair and clears his throat. “What better and more appropriate way to start off the semester than by beginning with the highest point?” It’s hard to tell if Mr. Park was all that impressed by the information he’s relaying. “The Hill is 1,257 feet above sea level and it’s in the backyard of a family home. In 2005, an Eagle Scout from Kentucky got permission to build a trail and picnic area and put up a sign.”

Jinsoul raised her hand, which Mr. Park ignores.

As he talks, she leaves her hand in the air and thinks, _What if I went there and stood on that point? Would things look different from 1,257 feet? It doesn’t seem very high, but they were proud of it, and who am I to say 1,257 feet isn’t something to be impressed by?_

Finally, he nods at her, his lips so tight, it looks like he’s swallowed them. “Yes, Ms. Jung?” He sighs the sigh of a one-hundred-year-old man and gives her an apprehensive, distrustful look.

“I suggest a field trip. We need to see the wondrous sights of our town while we still can, because at least three of us in this room are going to graduate and leave our great state at the end of this year, and what will we have to show for it except a subpar public school education from one of the worst school systems in the nation? Besides, a place like this is going to be hard to take in unless we see it. Kind of like the Grand Canyon or Yosemite. You need to be there to really appreciate its splendor.”

Jinsoul was only being about twenty percent sarcastic, but Mr. Park says, “Thank you, Ms. Jung,” in a way that means the direct opposite of thank you. She starts drawing hills on her notebook in tribute to their state’s highest point, but they look more like formless lumps or airborne snakes—she couldn’t decide.

“Jinsoul is correct that some of you will leave here at the end of this school year to go somewhere else. You’ll be departing our great state, and before you do, you should see it. You should wander.”

A noise from across the room interrupts him. Someone had come in late and dropped a book and then, in picking up the book, has upset all her other books so that everything has gone tumbling. That was followed by laughter because they were in high school, which means they're predictable and almost anything was funny, especially if it’s someone else’s public humiliation. The girl who dropped everything was Jungeun, the same Jungeun from the bell tower. She turns beet red and Jinsoul could tell she wants to die. Not in a jumping-from-a-great height kind of way, but more along the lines of _Please, earth, swallow me whole._

Jinsoul knows the feeling better than she knew her mom or her sister or her brother or Sooyoung. The feeling and her have been together all her life. Like the time she gave herself a concussion during kickball in front of Jennie Kim; or the time she laughed so hard that something flew out of her nose and landed on Taeyeong Lee; or the entire eighth grade.

And so, because she's used to it and because this Jungeun girl was about three dropped pencils away from crying, she knocked one of her own books onto the floor. All eyes shifted to her. She bends to pick it up and purposely sent the others flying—boomeranging into walls, windows, heads—and just for good measure, she tilted her chair over so she went crashing. That was followed by snickers and applause and a “freak” or two, and Mr. Park wheezing, “If you’re done Jinsoul I’d like to continue.”

Jinsoul rights herself, rights the chair, takes a bow, collects her books, bows again, settles in,and smiles at Jungeun, who was looking at her with what could only be described as surprise and relief and something else—worry, maybe. She'd like to think there’s a little lust mixed in too, but that could be wishful thinking. The smile she gave Jungeun was the best smile she has, the one that makes her mother forgive her for staying out too late or for just generally being weird. (Other times, she sees her mom looking at her—when she looks at her at all—like she’s thinking: _Where in the hell did you come from? You must get it from your father’s side._ )

Jungeun smiles back. Immediately, Jinsoul felt better, because she feels better and because of the way she smiles at her, as if she's not something to be avoided. That makes twice in one day that she's saved Jungeun. _Tenderhearted Jinsoul_ , her mother always says. _Too tenderhearted for her own good_. It’s meant as a criticism and she takes it as one.

Mr. Park fixes his eyes on Jungeun and then Jinsoul. “As I was saying your project for this class is to report on at least two, preferably three wonders of our state.” Jinsoul wanted to ask, Wonders or wanders? But she was busy watching Jungeun as she concentrates on the chalkboard, the corner of her mouth still turned up.

Mr. Park goes on about how he wants them to feel free to choose the places that strike their fancy, no matter how obscure or far away. Their mission was to go there and see each one, take pictures, shoot video, delve deep into their history, and tell him just what it is about these places that makes them proud. If it’s possible to link them in some way, all the better. They have the rest of the semester to complete the project, and they need to take it seriously.

“You will work in teams of two. This will count for thirty-five percent of your final grade.”

Jinsoul raised her hand again. “Can we choose our partners?”

“Yes.”

“I choose Jungeun Kim.”

“You may work that out with her after class.”

Jinsoul shifted in her seat so she could see her, elbow on the back of her chair. “Jungeun, I’d like to be your partner on this project.”

Her face turns pink as everyone looks at her. Jungeun says to Mr. Park, “I thought if there was something else I could do—maybe research and write a short report.” Her voice was low, but she sounds a little pissed. “I’m not ready to...”

He interrupts her. “Miss Kim, I’m going to do you the biggest favor of your life. I’m going to say no.”

“No?”

“No. It is a new year. It is time to get back on the camel.”

A few people laugh at this. Jungeun looks at Jinsoul and she could see that, yes, she was pissed, and it was then she remembers the accident. Jungeun and her sister, sometime last spring. Jungeun lived, the sister died. That was why she doesn’t want attention.

The rest of class time was spent telling them about places Mr. Park thinks they might enjoy and that, no matter what, they must see before they graduate—the usual humdrum tourist spots—even though Jinsoul knew that most of them would stay right there in that town until they die.

Jinsoul tried to catch Jungeun's eye again, but she doesn’t look up. Instead, she shrinks low in her seat and stares straight ahead.

Outside of class, Taeyeong blocks Jinsoul's way. As usual, he’s not alone. Nayeon waits just behind, hip jutted out, Johnny and Hyunjin on either side of her. Good, easygoing, decent, nice-guy Hyunjin, athlete, A student, vice president of the class.

Taeyeong says, “I better not catch you looking at me again.”

“I wasn’t looking at you. Believe me, there are at least a hundred other things in that room I’d look at before you, including Mr. Park's large, naked ass.”

“Faggot.”

Because Taeyeong and her have been sworn enemies since middle school, he shoves the books out of her hands, and even though that was right out of Fifth-Grade Bullying 101, Jinsoul feels a familiar black grenade of anger—like an old friend—go off in her stomach, the thick, toxic smoke from it rising up and spreading through her chest. It’s the same feeling she had last year in that instant before she picked up a desk and hurled it—not at Taeyeong, like he wants everyone to believe, but at the chalkboard in Mr. G's room.

“Pick ’em up, bitch.” Taeyeong walks past her, knocking her in the stomach—hard—with his elbow. She wants to slam his head into a locker and then reach down his throat and pull his heart out through his mouth, because the thing about being _Awake_ was that everything in you is alive and aching and making up for lost time.

But instead she counts all the way to sixty, a stupid smile plastered on her stupid face. _I will not get detention. I will not get expelled. I will be good. I will be quiet. I will be still._

Mr. Park watches from the doorway, and she tried to give him a casual nod to show him everything’s cool, everything’s under control, everything’s fine, nothing to see, palms weren’t itching, skin wasn’t burning, blood wasn’t pumping, please move along. She's made a promise to herself that this year would be different. If she keeps ahead of everything, and that includes her, she should be able to stay awake and here, and not just semi-here but here as in present as in now.

—

The rain has stopped, and in the parking lot Sooyoung and Jinsoul leans against her car under the washed-out January sun as she talks about the thing she most loves talking about other than herself—sex. Their friend Haseul stands listening, books clutched against her chest.

Sooyoung spent winter break working at the Mall Cinema, where she apparently let all the hot girls sneak in without paying. That got her more action than even she knew what to do with, mostly in the handicapped row in the back, the one missing armrests.

She nods at Jinsoul. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Where were you?”

“Around. I didn’t feel like coming to school, so I hit the interstate and didn’t look back.” There’s no way of explaining the _Asleep_ to her friends, and even if there was, there’s no need. One of the things she likes best about Sooyoung and Haseul was that she doesn’t have to explain herself. She comes, she goes, and Oh well, it’s just Jinsoul.

Sooyoung nods again. “What we need to do is get you laid.” It’s an indirect reference to the bell tower incident. If she gets laid, she won’t try to kill herself. According to Sooyoung, getting laid fixes everything. If only world leaders would get laid well and regularly, the world’s problems might disappear.

Haseul frowns at her. “You’re a pig, Sooyoung.”

“You love me.”

“You wish I’d love you. Why don’t you be more like Jinsoul? She’s a gentlewoman.” There weren’t many people who would say that about her, but the great thing about this life of theirs was that you can be someone different to everybody.

Jinsoul says, “You can leave me out of it.”

Haseul shakes her head. “No, I’m serious. Gentlewomen are rare. They’re like virgins or leprechauns. If I ever get married, I’m going to marry one.”

Jinsoul couldn’t resist saying, “A virgin or a leprechaun?” Haseul slugs her in the arm.

“There’s a difference between a gentlewoman and a girl with no play.” Sooyoung nods at her. “No offense, man.”

“None taken.” It’s true, after all, at least compared to Sooyoung, and actually what she means was that Jinsoul has bad luck with women. Something about going for the bitchy ones or the crazy ones or the ones who pretend not to know her when other people are around.

Anyway, she's barely listening, because over Haseul's shoulder she sees her again—Jungeun. She could already feel herself falling hard, something she's been known to do (Jennie, Lisa, Arin, the three japanese students—Momo, Sana, Mina...) All because she smiled at her. But it was a damn good smile. A genuine one, which was hard to come by these days. Especially when you’re her, Jinsoul Freak, Resident Aberration.

Haseul turns around to see what she's looking at. She shakes her head at Jinsoul, her mouth all smirked up in a way that makes Jinsoul protect her arm. “God, you guys are all the same.”

—

At home, her mother was talking on the phone and defrosting one of the casseroles her brother Jaehyun prepares at the start of each week. Mom waves and then keeps right on. Jaehyun runs down the stairs, swipes his car keys from the counter, and says, “Later, loser.” Jinsoul has two siblings—Jaehyun, just one year older than she is, and Chaewon, who’s eight. Clearly, she was a mistake, which she figured out at the age of six. But they all know if anyone was the mistake here, it’s Jinsoul.

Jinsoul goes upstairs, wet shoes squeaking against the floor, and shuts the door to her room. She pulled out something old on vinyl without checking what it was and slaps it onto the turntable she found in the basement. The record bumps and scratches, sounding like something from the 1920s. She was in a Split Enz kind of phase right now, hence the sneakers. She's trying out Jinsoul Jung, ’80s kid, and seeing how she fits.

She fished through her desk for a cigarette, sticks it in her mouth, and remembered as she's reaching for her lighter that Jinsoul Jung, ’80s kid, doesn’t smoke. God, she hates her, the clean-cut, eager little prick. She leaves the cigarette in her mouth unlit, trying to chew the nicotine out, and picks up the guitar, plays along, then gives it up and sits down at the computer, swinging her chair around so it’s backward, the only way she can compose.

She types: 

**January 5.**

**Method: Bell tower of school. On a scale of one to ten on the how-close-did-l-come scale: five.**

**Facts: Jumping increases on full moons and holidays. One of the more famous jumpers was Roy Raymond, founder of Victoria’s Secret.**

**Related fact: In 1912, a man named Franz Reichelt jumped off the Eiffel Tower wearing a parachute suit he designed himself. He jumped to test his invention—he expected to fly—but instead he fell straight down, hitting the ground like a meteor and leaving a 5.9-inch-deep crater from the impact. Did he mean to kill himself? Doubtful. I just think he was just cocky, and also stupid.**

A quick internet search turns up the information that only five to ten percent of all suicides are committed by jumping (so says Johns Hopkins). Apparently,jumping as a means of killing oneself is usually chosen for convenience, which was why places like San Francisco, with its Golden Gate Bridge (the world’s top suicide destination), are so popular. Here, all they have was the Purina Tower and a 1,257-foot hill.

Jinsoul writes:

**Reason for not jumping: Too messy. Too public. Too crowded.**

She switches off Google and hops onto Facebook. She finds Nayeon's page because she’s friends with everyone, even the people she’s not friends with, and Jinsoul pulls up her friend list, typing in “Jungeun.”

Just like that, there she was. Jinsoul clicked on Jungeun's photo and there she was, even bigger, wearing the same smile she gave her earlier.

**You have to be her friend to read her profile and view the rest of her pictures.**

Jinsoul sat staring at the screen, suddenly desperate to know more. Who is this Jungeun Kim? She tries a Google search, because maybe there’s a secret back entrance to her Facebook page, one that requires a special knock or a three-digit code, something easily figured out.

What she pulled up instead was a site called KaheiandJungeun.com, which lists Jungeun Kim as cocreator/editor/writer. It’s got all the usual girls-and-beauty-type blog posts, the most recent from April 3 of last year. The other thing she pulls up was a news article.

**Kahei, 18, a senior at Dalso High School and member of the student congress, lost control of her car on A Street Bridge at approximately 12:45 a.m.** **April 5. Icy conditions and speed may have caused the crash. Kahei was killed on impact. Her 16-year-old sister, Jungeun, a passenger in the vehicle, sustained only minor injuries.**

Jinsoul sits reading and rereading this, a black feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. And then she does something she swore she'd never do. She signed up for Facebook just so she could send Jungeun a friend request. Having an account will make her look sociable and normal, and maybe work to offset the whole meeting-on-the-verge-of-suicide situation, so that Jungeun would feel it’s safe to know her. She takes a picture of herself with her phone, decides she looks too serious, takes another one—too goofy—and settles on the third, which was somewhere in between.

Jinsoul sleeps the computer so she doesn’t check every five minutes, and then she plays the guitar, reads a few pages of Macbeth for homework, and eats dinner with Chaewon and her mom, a tradition that started last year, after the divorce. Even though Jinsoul's not much into eating, dinner was one of the most enjoyable parts of her day because she gets to turn her brain off.

Her mom says, “Chaewon, tell me what you learned today.” She makes sure to ask them about school so that she feels she’s done her duty. That was her favorite way to start.

Chaewon says, “I learned that Mark is a jackass.” She has been swearing more often lately, trying to get a reaction out of their mom, to see if she’s really listening.

“Chaewon,” Their mom says mildly, but she was only half paying attention.

Chaewon goes on to tell them about how this boy named Mark glued his hands to his desk just to get out of a science quiz, but when they tried to separate skin from wood, his palms came off with the glue. Chaewon's eyes gleamed like the eyes of a small, rabid animal. She clearly thinks he deserved it, and then she says so.

Mom was suddenly listening. “Chaewon.” She shakes her head. That was the extent of her parenting. Ever since their dad left, she’s tried really hard to be the cool parent. Still, Jinsoul feels bad for her because she loves him, even though, at his core, he’s selfish and rotten, and even though he left her for a woman named Karen and because of something she said to Jinsoul the day he left: “I never expected to be single at forty.” It was the way she said it more than the words themselves. She made it sound so _final_.

Ever since then, Jinsoul has done what she could to be pleasant and quiet, making herself as small and unseen as possible—which includes pretending to go to school when she's asleep, as in _the Asleep_ —so that she doesn’t add to the burden. She is not always successful.

“How was your day, Jinsoul?”

“Grand.” She pushed her food around her plate, trying to create a pattern. The thing about eating was that there are so many other more interesting things to do. She feels the same way about sleeping. Complete wastes of time.

_Interesting fact: A Chinese man died from lack of sleep when he stayed awake for eleven days straight as he attempted to watch every game in the European Championship (that’s soccer ; for those, like Jinsoul, who has no clue). On the eleventh night, he watched Italy beat Ireland 2-0, took a shower, and fell asleep around five a.m. And died. No offense to the dead, but soccer is a really stupid thing to stay awake for._

Her mom has stopped eating to study her face. When her mom does pay attention, which wasn’t often, she tries hard to be understanding about her “sadness,” just like she tries hard to be patient when Jaehyun stays out all night and Chaewon spends time in the principal’s office. Her mother blames their bad behavior on the divorce and her dad. She says they just need time to work through it.

Less sarcastically, Jinsoul adds, “It was okay. Uneventful. Boring. Typical.” They move on to easier topics, like the house her mother was trying to sell for her clients and the weather.

When dinner was over, their mom lays a hand on Jinsoul's arm, fingertips barely touching the skin, and says, “Isn’t it nice to have your sister back, Chaewon?” She says it as if she's in danger of disappearing again, right in front of their eyes. The slightly blaming note in her voice makes her cringe, and she gets the urge to go back to her room again and stay there. Even though her mom tries to forgive her sadness, she wants to count on her as second child of the house, and even though her mom thinks she was in school for most of that four-almost-five-week period, she did miss a lot of family dinners. Her mother takes her fingers back and then they’re free, which was exactly how they act—the three of them running off in three different directions.

—

Around ten o’clock, after everyone else has gone to bed and Jaehyun still wasn’t home, Jinsoul turned on the computer again and checked her Facebook account.

**Jungeun Kim accepted your friend request** , it says.

And now they were friends.

Jinsoul wanted to shout and jog around the house, maybe climb up onto the roof and spread her arms wide but not jump off, not even think about it. But instead she hunched closer to the screen and browsed through her photos—Jungeun smiling with two people who must be her parents, Jungeun smiling with friends, Jungeun smiling at a pep rally, Jungeun smiling cheek to cheek with another girl, Jungeun smiling all alone.

She remembered the picture of Jungeun and the girl from the newspaper. That was her sister, Kahei. She wears the same clunky glasses Jungeun had on today.

Suddenly a message appears in her inbox.

Jungeun: **You ambushed me. In front of everyone.**

Jinsoul: **Would you have worked with me if I hadn’t?**

Jungeun: **I would have gotten out of it so I didn’t have to do it to begin with. Why do you want me to do this project with you anyway?**

Jinsoul: **Because our mountain is waiting.**

Jungeun: **What’s that supposed to mean?**

Jinsoul: **It means maybe you never dreamed of seeing our state, but, in addition to the fact that we’re required to do this for school, and I’ve volunteered—okay,ambushed—you into being my partner, here’s what I think: I think I’ve got a map in my car that wants to be used, and I think there are places we can go that needs to be seen. Maybe no one else will ever visit them and appreciate them or take the time to think they’re important, but maybe even the smallest places mean something. And if not, maybe they can mean something to us. At the very least, by the time we leave, we know we will have seen it, this great state of ours. So come on. Let’s go. Let’s count for something. Let’s get off that ledge.**

When she doesn’t respond, Jinsoul writes: **I’m here if you want to talk.**

Silence.

She imagines Jungeun at home right now, on the other side of the computer, her perfect mouth with its perfect corners turned up, smiling at the screen, in spite of everything, no matter what. _Jungeun smiling._ With one eye on her computer, Jinsoul picked up the guitar, starts making up words, the tune not far behind.

She was still here, and she's grateful, because otherwise she would be missing this. Sometimes it’s good to be awake.

_“So not today,” Jinsoul sings. “Because she smiled at me.”_

—

**JINSOUL'S RULES FOR WANDERING**

  1. There are no rules, because life is made up of too many rules as it is.
  2. But there are three “guidelines” (which sounds less rigid than “rules”):


  * a.) No using our phones to get us there. We have to do this strictly old-school, which means learning to read actual maps.
  * b.) We alternate choosing places to go, but we also have to be willing to go where the road takes us. This means the grand, the small, the bizarre, the poetic, the beautiful, the ugly, the surprising. Just like life. But absolutely, unconditionally, resolutely _nothing ordinary._
  * c) At each site, we leave something, almost like an offering. It can be our own private game of geocaching (“the recreational activity of hunting for and finding a hidden object by means of GPS coordinates posted on a website”), only not a game, and just for us. The rules of geocaching say “take something, leave something.” The way I figure it, we stand to get something out of each place, so why not give something back? Also, it’s a way to prove we’ve been there, and away to leave a part of us behind.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah well, jinsoul and jungeun's wandering starts right about next chapter......i think?
> 
> i'm really sorry if this was shorter than the previous chapter (and boring) but i assure you the next one will have more stories from both sides of character
> 
> and as always thank you for reading!!
> 
> oomfie told me i should put my socmed accs so i can interact with others more but idk if someone will but here's my [twt](https://mobile.twitter.com/lil_gowon) and my [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/lil_gowon) i guess hsjahsjahjs have a nice day <2

**Author's Note:**

> idk where i'm going with this but let's see where it'll take us hsjahsjahsjsh and anyways
> 
> LOONA COMEBACK COMEBACK LOONA LOONA COMEBACK COMEBACK LOONA
> 
> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <2


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